Total pages in book: 28
Estimated words: 26537 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 133(@200wpm)___ 106(@250wpm)___ 88(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 26537 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 133(@200wpm)___ 106(@250wpm)___ 88(@300wpm)
It was tough. I went from living in the lap of luxury to a group home where I shared a room with six other girls, with dingy bunk beds and cold showers. I went from attending an all-girls exclusive academy with the best instructors, to enrolling at a local high school so packed to the gills with students that we were divided into three groups to eat lunch because the cafeteria couldn’t seat us all at once. To say I was completely stunned would be an understatement. I went through life in a daze, only speaking when spoken too.
But eventually, I pulled myself out of it. I made a friend named Misty, and she was spunky, friendly, and super-intelligent too. Slowly, she pulled me out of my funk and soon, we were spending hours together studying, laughing, and trying to enjoy our time as best as two girls in foster care can.
Even more, Misty’s ultra-savvy and we started putting together a plan. Both of us are decent students, and we tried to focus at school. We took challenging courses, and got stellar grades as a result of hours of dedicated study and endless review. By our senior years, we’d been accepted with full scholarships at Evergreen State College, and we were over the moon with joy.
“Yay!” Misty shrieked as we bounced up and down on our dorm beds. “Here we come, Evergreen!”
“I can’t believe it,” I whispered while looking at my acceptance letter with wide eyes. “It’s really happening!”
Even better, a foundation agreed to cover housing and books for us because we were foster kids leaving the system without any other supports. Meanwhile, I tried to keep my eyes on the prize: a degree that will help me get me a good job in the future, and lead me to a successful and independent adulthood. Yet sometimes, what happened in my past still puts me in a state of shock. I haven’t spoken to my mother or Julio in over two years now, and when I think of them, I feel a mix of sadness, depression, and overwhelming anger too. I feel disposable, like they blame me for what happened. Yet how can that be possible? I was a high school girl who didn’t know any better while engaged in an affair with a charming, older man. I was clearly in over my head, and couldn’t tell right from wrong. But I think the wound was so deep, and hurt so badly, that Stephanie just couldn’t move past it.
Even worse, sometimes I think about the baby that I lost, and inevitably, my heart breaks. He or she will always be with me, and I still get tears in my eyes when pondering our lost time together. My eyes take on a glassy sheen, and I’ll literally begin to sob out of nowhere. But kids in foster care are always crying for one reason or another, and the staff knew to give me space whenever I looked particularly withdrawn.
So I have to make my life work. I have no other choice because this is the path that Misty and I planned, and there are no other options. But I have to be careful too because my heart’s still sore, and I can’t take that risk again. I can’t put myself out there, and as a result, instead of dating like a normal co-ed at Evergreen, I work as a hostess for Sweet Lies.
I know what you’re thinking: what in the world does a hostess do? The answer is simple. I’m a paid companion to wealthy, handsome men who want to spend a pleasant evening the company of a beautiful young woman. But it’s not about sex. No way. I can’t risk the heartbreak of getting pregnant again, and so I stick to Sweet Lies’ “platonic-only” option. This means that I only go on platonic dates with my clients, and it could be a variety of activities, including dinner at a fancy restaurant to doing community clean-up in a local park. Yes, I’ve actually done that as part of a paid engagement because men crave the girlfriend-experience. Even more than sex, men want a woman to talk to, who’s intelligent and sweet, and who makes them feel good about themselves. Sure, sometimes I’ll kiss a particularly handsome client, and I’ve even engaged in some heavy petting, but I never get to home base. No way. I can’t risk my heart and sanity again like that.
So yes, now I’m what’s considered “a paid companion” while also carrying a full academic load. I live two lives, essentially. During the day, I’m a spunky, sassy co-ed at Evergreen, but at night, I become a seductive vixen whose job it is to make men happy. Is my existence complicated? Is this double-life terrifying and mind-boggling, filled with regrets and confusion, while also being exciting, remunerative, and even rewarding? Yes, yes, and yes. I’m just a young girl doing the best she can, and as I prepare for an upcoming date, I smile wanly at my reflection in the mirror. Most young women would be bubbly and excited at the prospect of spending time with a gorgeous guy, but I’m relieved that this date is fake because after what I’ve endured ... I can’t handle the real thing.